


Body Double

by Dracze



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Joker (DCU), Casual Sex, Character Study, Chronic Pain, Consensual Infidelity, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masochism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Service Top, Sexual Roleplay, Substitution, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracze/pseuds/Dracze
Summary: I know you're out there, darling.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Joker/OMC
Comments: 34
Kudos: 142





	Body Double

**Author's Note:**

  * For [synthwave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthwave/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Ring!!! <3333 This isn't THE work I wanted to give you (that one's coming soon) but I hope you like this little thing anyway ;A;
> 
> Just a note on the "consensual infidelity" tag - it's basically the closest thing I could find to describe the nature of this story. No one's cheating on anyone "officially," but some might see Joker sleeping with anyone BUT Bruce as cheating, and this story is all about Joker taking a henchman to bed and pretending it's Bruce while Bruce watches. So... there's that. 
> 
> Hope you like it, and please let me know if you do! <33

I know you’re out there, darling.

Can’t see you yet. But I can feel you just fine. The telltale shivery-tingle on my skin that means you’re close, and that singular sizzling, concentrated heat of your eyes on me and me alone, tracking me around the warehouse floor like the brightest, hottest of spotlights.

And here, let’s see if I get this right:

You’re out on recon. Because of course you are! It’s what you do! Staking me out like the good proper detective you are, right, and doing your noble heroic best to deduce the deducibles, calculate calculations, reroute the routes, assess the asses and yadda yadda yadda whateverthehellelse insert cheesy 80’s cop lingo here, in short: all that other stuff that you like to pretend you do before you burst in here in a shower of sharpysharp glass and even sharper righteousness. 

And that’s smart! That, in point of fact, is not just understandable but advisable, too! After all, there could be booby traps! Or guns. Or hostages. (Or booby-trapped hostages with guns.) I’m rather notorious for all three, aren’t I, so caution is perfectly justified, logical, clever, calculated, tactical and all those other adjectives you need to tell yourself you are so you can sleep at night.

(Or is it daybreak? When _do_ you sleep, I wonder? And more to the point, will you ever let me find out? 

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here, aren’t we.)

Anyway, not to worry, dear — I know the rules, and I know why you’re here. It’s one of _those_ nights, isn’t it? Yes, yes, I know you can feel it too, that particular _je ne sais quoi_ in the air. The delicious slowly cloying _thickness_ of anticipation, seasoned with a healthy sprinkle of sexual frustration and then put on boil. A bit like congealing blood, except for the part where it isn’t like that at all, no, no, it’s so much _hotter_ , and when I open my mouth and lick the air the taste of it is not so much electric as

As

Well.

I suppose it tastes of you.

(And about time it did, too.)

My point is, I _do_ know the rules, so I won’t look up. I won’t try to spot you and ruin the fun for us both. No, I’m just gonna stroll about my business for a bit, nice and easy does it just like any regular old night, and inspect that my crew are working as they should. They tend to laze about when they think I’m not looking, see, and we can’t have that, now, can we.

So I’m gonna take my sweet time about it. Get thorough. Yell at them a bit, give them pointers, giggle just for the heck of it while I make you squirm out there, basking in it because it feels too good not to, and act to all intents and purposes as if I _don’t_ know you’re here. 

As if I can’t feel you. As if I’m not steadily burning inside out with the heat of your presence so very, very close. 

(Now _that’s_ what I call performance art.)

And the best thing about it is, I can afford to play with the limits of your patience like this, to try and test and stretch and stretch and stretch them like a helium balloon, because after all, it’s not like you’re gonna _leave_. 

Not tonight. Not when it gets like this. 

You want this too much.

You’ve heard about Andy, I take it. You must have, or you wouldn’t be here. That’s okay. In fact, Batsy, that’s perfect, so don’t you worry your pointy little head — I’m in the mood tonight, too.

I’m gonna give you what you came for. 

… Just not right away. I’m gonna tease you first, like the clown of my word that I am, and make you squirm a little longer, and revel in the shivers and tingles running through me from my hair follicles all the way down to the tiniest toenail. And I’m gonna take the time to feel and enjoy every single one, ‘cause what’s the point having an emotion if you can’t let it loose in _all_ of you?

(My point exactly.)

… Or, well. At least that’s the plan for the first however many minutes it takes me to cross the warehouse halfway. ‘Cause then my mind, already firing on all cylinders thanks to you, slips the leash I try to put on it and runs _off_ , and suddenly all I can see and hear is you.

 _Get on with it, Joker_ , I imagine you grunting in my ear, and for a moment it’s like you’re _here_ , right behind me, and the shivers get so bad I have to stop in the middle of the floor and just _smile_ until the worst of it passes, because just like that, it’s all _too much_. 

Oh, your impatience. Sprinkled as it is with those _hilarious_ scruples and denials, and the stubborn claims that there isn’t any impatience at all.

You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you, and I can’t get enough. 

Ah, what the hell. A plan’s no good if it ain’t flexible. And honey, I know all _about_ flexible.

(Ha.)

Besides, you know I’m not usually one for delayed gratification. At least I’m man enough to admit it. 

(Unlike _some_ leather-loving pointy-eared individuals I could name.)

So! Half an hour should do the trick. Long enough for the mood to boil up nicely and set, for the tingly sparkly shivers to get really _really_ good, and for me to build up the need so I can be…

Authentic. 

You’re in for a treat tonight, Bats.

And I’ll have you know, it takes _a lot_ out of me not to glance your way when I finally tell everyone to vamoose, and then tell Andy, specifically, to stay. I’m pretty sure he smiles at that, but I’ll be frank with you, darling — I couldn’t care less. You’re all I’ve got space for in my head, my body and my heart, cheesy as that may sound, and I’m too full with you already, even this early in the game. I can feel your excitement sparking off mine as though we really did touch just now, as tangible to me as any burst of static, and I make myself slow down going up the stairs. Let you appreciate every single second.

Just how we both know you like it. 

Poor Andy, bless his heart, probably thinks it’s for his benefit that I sashay, giving him a nice view of my ass, and isn’t that just _hilarious_? Still, I don’t think I’m going to disabuse him of that notion just yet. He’s gonna get his poor clueless heart broken soon enough — he might as well enjoy his delusions while I’m in a gracious enough mood to let him.

Especially since, just between you and me, I’m not entirely sure his name even _is_ Andy. He just looks like an Andy to me. And to his credit, he’s been a good sport about it. 

That’s what he seems to be overall, come to think of it. A good sport. Obedient, loyal, not too smart but clever enough to realize his shortcomings and defer to his betters — the standard specs, and some of my favorite things in a henchman. Has a lovely violent streak, too, and hardly any safety on it at all, which always comes in handy. 

He blames society, you see. Thinks I’m gonna burn it all down and he wants to be there to hand over the matches. 

(Well. He’s right on that score, of course. But thinking about _that_ makes you pout, and I don’t want you to get too many premature wrinkles, darling, so I’ll drop it for now. See how much I care?)

Oh, and naturally, he adores me. But that goes without saying.

None of it is why I took him to bed, of course. No, _that_ started because it got boring and cold and lonely at Arkham, and I didn’t see you for weeks after I slipped the leash, and I thought you were ignoring me on purpose again and long story short, the ol’ gloom clouds got a-swirling around my brain the way they do sometimes, round and round and round like a bunch of nagging little nags, and 

And

And. And and and and and.

You know how it goes. 

Long story short, it all got just a bit too grey, too hard to find the color and humor in things, and the pain got worse than usual, and the burn flared too hot both inside and out, and none of my ideas felt quite _right_ , and you were _ignoring me how dare you fucking ignore me you pompous blind ungrateful little_

But you don’t wanna hear about all _that_ , do you. Not yet. It’d ruin the mood. 

I understand.

The _point_ , darling. The point is. It all got me in a pretty bad way indeed, ya know? It got so bad, in fact, that I needed to release the ugly _nownownow_ , and in the end it was either sex or blow stuff up. 

And I didn’t happen to have any explosives on me at the time. 

Plus, just to get real with you for a moment? As a tip, from me to you? Some food for thought?

Sometimes, all a hard-working girl like me _needs_ is some goddamn _appreciation_.

Well, Andy appreciates me, darling. He appreciates me plenty and vigorously, and all night long if I ask him. Better yet, he does exactly what I tell him, and he’s big enough and strong enough and his body looks almost like yours in the dark if I squint, and he’s so amusingly, pathetically _eager_. 

(Too eager, if I’m entirely honest. Just between you and me, I’m probably gonna have to give him the boot soon. Pets are nice an’all, but they all get so _clingy_ after a while, and I think we’re getting close to the point where any day now, it’ll start getting tiresome. 

But not just yet. Tonight, I’ve got my needs. 

And tonight, with your eyes on me, he’ll do.)

I lead the way up the stairs to the office above the main floor that also serves as my bedroom. It’s a touch spartan chique, I’ll grant you — didn’t have much time to decorate this time around. You can hardly blame me, dear. You know what it’s like when you’re on the lam with the pigs all hot and bothered on your tail (you rob one novelty exhibition in this town and all hell breaks lose, I ask you) and need a cosy little burrow for you and the crew, with an emphasis on speed rather than eleganza. 

(... Then again, that one might just be me.)

But I did what I could with some glitter, paint and whatever I could scrounge from my old hideouts, and the effects are serviceable if nothing else. Add a splash of color here and there and I make it work. The desk’s nice and big and sturdy, the mattress I stole is comfortable enough, and best of all, the office’s got tall windows running the whole south wall.

And then, of course, there’s the _piece de resistance_ : the skylight. Right above the mattress.  


No need to thank me for that one, baby. I’m just thoughtful like that. 

(I remember dear old Harley asking me once, in that deceptively baby-earnest way she’s got with her mouth open wide and her baby blues all big and her lashes aflutter, _Gee, how come you keep choosing hidey holes with those big-ass windows, mistah J? Isn’t that dangerous when you’re on the lam?_

I know, darling. I laughed at her, too. 

She wised up soon enough.) 

I waste no time on small talk or flirting. There’s no need. Andy’s house-broken and knows why he’s here, and at this point, all it takes is a particular private smile from me, or even a lingering look, to get him ready. And besides, _you_ wouldn’t be able to hear me, so what’s the point? 

But I do take my time undressing, and I do it facing the big windows. The shivery-tingles wreck me up and down, curling my toes in a most delicious way, and darling, it feels so good to feel your gaze on me now, drinking in every single nanosecond the way I know you are. I can’t see you from here, but I keep my eyes on the neighboring roof and let us both cherish it as I slowly unlace and toe off my shoes, then shrug out of my coattails, slip the vest, and undo each button in my shirt, one by one. 

Now, now, sweetheart, steady on. I know you’re impatient. But see how nice I’m making it for you? We won’t get another night like this any time soon, not with what I’m planning for you and the city next. So just kick back and enjoy the show, because this, here? Tonight? This is for _us_. 

And I wanna make it good. 

I don’t bother to check if Andy’s undressing. I know he is, and I know that he’ll be naked and hard, hands washed and condom on, by the time I turn to face him. Like I said, I trained him well. So I keep my eyes up ahead, not quite trying to spot you out there but not-not trying, either, while I make slow work of the buttons and let the silk shirt glide softly off my shoulders. 

I shiver a little more as it does. The silk is the finest I could find, but even this much, even this butterfly drag of watery-soft fabric over my skin, burns me as it goes. 

But that’s fine, darling. Tonight, that’s perfect. I want it to burn. I want to feel too much too fast, the way I would if you were really in here with me rather than out there with all this glass between us. So I make this slow, too, and hiss a little, and bite my lip. 

Just for you. 

The belt comes next. I let my fingers linger in the loops, and yeah, I’m going to tease you with this, too. Did you really expect I wouldn’t? 

You really ought to know better by now. 

Though, sure, _I’m_ getting impatient now, too. Of course I am. But I make myself go slow anyway because I imagine it’s driving you _crazy_ out there, watching me tease the loop open and then let the pants slide down every. Inch. Of my legs. 

(I know how much you like my legs, Bats.) 

I’m vibrating with it all over, tingling with sparks up and down, when I finally step out of the pants and then stand there before the windows fingering the waistband of my underwear. 

It’s not a _complete_ coincidence that I happen to be wearing the black thong tonight. I _was_ going to sleep with Andy regardless, and it never hurts to tease them a little to get their motor running. 

Now that I know you’re here, though, the choice seems not entirely my own, and I’m grateful to Gotham for giving me the impulse this morning. 

She _is_ watching out for us, in her own way. Of course she is. But it’s nice to be reminded every now and again. 

I let you take me in, then, standing there just long enough to get goosebumps. I know you can see it breaking out on my skin. And you know that’s for you, too. 

Like everything else is, and always will be. 

“Boss?” Andy asks behind me, and it’s just the silliest thing, darling, but he startles me. Guess I got _so_ engrossed in our little game and the idea of you watching me that I forgot he was here. 

No matter. I remember now. And I’m more than ready for the _real_ fun to begin. 

I give us both a second longer, and then I turn. I think you’ll appreciate _this_ view, too, and I make sure to sway my hips as I stick them out and walk over to the mattress, imagining the floor’s my runway, which, of course, it is. Andy’s already sat there, obediently naked and pathetically eager in that way he has, and so very very hungry, his nice big cock already sticking up at full mast. 

Get a good look at that one, darling. Rather fine specimen, isn’t it? Acceptable length, impressive girth. That’s our headliner tonight, and it’s gonna be playing you in just a bit, so I hope you’re satisfied with your body double. 

(And if not, well, tough break. You’ve got no one but yourself to blame, mister. Casting would be easier if you gave me notes.) 

Anyway, the way Andy’s looking at me? Like I hung not just the moon but everything else besides? It’s nice. A bit sickening, bit cloying, but nice, and a good boost to my ego. Only, I think the poor dear thinks this little striptease is for his benefit, too. 

An alarming thought. But... 

Ah, what the hell. Let him. There’s no harm in that, and it might just embolden him enough to get creative. 

We both know better, you and I, and that’s all that matters. 

I put one foot on the mattress and raise an eyebrow at him. Andy nods, bowing a little like the good pet he is. See that, darling? Now that’s respect. It wouldn’t kill you to show me a bit of that every once in a while. 

(Then again, it might just kill _me_.) 

Anyway, Andy then starts rolling the stocking down my leg with the kind of religious reverence I do enjoy sometimes when I’m in the right mood for it. It’s rare enough these days, and this one, now, this one really, genuinely, honestly does think it’s an honor that I let him do this, darling. 

Aren’t ordinary people _adorable_? 

And he’s right, of course. It _is_ an honor. I don’t let just anyone do this for me, as you well know. I’ve got standards. 

So I’m gracious about it, waiting till he’s done with both my stockings, and I even give him a little pat on the head for encouragement. Figure it can’t hurt. 

I don’t let him touch my thong, though. That, I take care of myself. I don’t want him touching the little clown, not even by accident — he hasn’t earned the privilege. 

(None of them have.) 

I keep my gloves on, too. It’ll be easier this way. And it’ll only help with the fantasy, not that it _needs_ much help, not with the way I am and keep getting, all bubbly and floaty and dazed and yet too much too full too sharp too tight too _here and now_ , the way I usually only get when I stand across from you and smell your passion up close and personal, knowing that in another second or two we’ll be coming together, already anticipating the delicious, delirious pleasure-pain of your love blooming in bruises all over me. 

This isn’t quite the same, but you’re here, and you’re gonna be watching. That’s enough for me. I’m hard and straining and dripping for you when I pull my thong down, and I need to bite my lip as the fabric chafes down the skin of my legs. 

Andy pulls it the rest of the way down, and I close my eyes, already imagining it’s your hands on me instead of his. 

Which reminds me. 

I step away from the mattress and make for the desk. Tonight calls for something special. Not that I need any help losing myself in the illusion, as we’ve just established, but. 

I want as much of it as I can have. 

And what I want, I get. 

“Put these on,” I tell Andy, tossing him a pair of black leather gloves. 

Andy, bless him, doesn’t argue. He really is smarter than most. Or quite possibly just horny enough not to question anything, as long as it gets him laid. 

Gotta respect that in a man. 

I wait till he’s done with the gloves, and then I go straight for the mattress and stretch down on it, letting him ogle the whole length of my naked body. 

(And, more importantly, letting you do the same.) 

And then I just lie there, on my back, looking up at him. Smiling. Letting my hands trail over my chest, teasing skin that’s beyond electrified now and can barely stand the touch. And spreading my legs wide open. 

Andy’s surprised, and just a little confused. It’s not a flattering look on him, poor thing. But don’t blame him, darling: he isn’t the quickest on the uptake, and he isn’t used to this. I _do_ have my standards, you see, and though he's done it for me a couple times before, I usually prefer to do this part myself. 

Tonight, though, he’s wearing the gloves. And _you’re here to watch_. 

That changes everything. 

“Prepare me,” I order, because clearly the poor guy needs a verbal cue. 

He blinks down at me. “Boss?” 

See what I meant when I said this one wasn’t the brightest? 

I manage not to roll my eyes, something I consider an impressive feat given my usual impulse control. “Finger me open,” I explain. 

And oh, he likes _that_. He likes that a lot. I can see it in the way his eyes light up like a police station during a riot, and he has the audacity to lick his lips before he catches himself doing it. It’s all I can do not to laugh in his face. 

Well, okay. I do laugh a _little_. I’m only human, aren’t I? 

(Ha! I know, darling, I know. I really do kill myself sometimes.) 

“You sure, Boss?” he asks me, all stuttery shy. 

I nod graciously and giggle some more, just to put us both at ease. I exaggerate it for his benefit, too, and it seems to calm him down. It’s the little things that matter in these situations, see. Gotta go with what they know. 

And in my case, they mostly know the laugh. 

(It’s a brand integrity thing, darling. Very important in our line of work. 

But then, I hardly need to tell _you_ that.) 

Andy scoots closer, nearly tripping over himself as though if he doesn’t move fast I’ll change my mind. I let my smile stretch wide and bright until my cheeks strain with it. 

“Touch me a little, too,” I tell him for good measure, feeling generous. “Go to town. It’s a pampering kinda night.” 

The way the poor dear looks at me then, it’s as if he’s a starved little orphan and I’m Santa with a big fat bag of goodies. I probably made his entire life. He’ll be telling this story to his grandchildren, no doubt. 

If he lives that long. 

(Don’t you look at me like that.) 

And then I feel the touch of the gloves on my skin, and I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. 

It’s not _quite_ right. Texture’s all wrong, it being just regular old motorcycle leather. Not one of the real gauntlets I’ve managed to steal from you. Those are _far_ too precious to let some lowly rent-a-thug mess about with them, and I keep them locked up nice and safe in a place only I know about. 

But it’s _close enough_. And it’s all I need to suddenly find myself displaced, floating in some weightless, gravity-less limbo above and below this dingy old warehouse, and then it’s _your_ touch on me. Your hand, touching my hip, and shyly trailing inward. Your — 

No. This is — no. Hold up. Stop the presses. 

_Your_ hand would never be _shy_. 

Excuse me, darling. This won’t take a second. 

“Let’s make one thing crystal clear,” I tell Andy without opening my eyes. “You do know what _go to town_ means, don’cha?” 

A beat of hesitation. “To go harder, Boss?” 

“Good. Good! Yes, exactly! Glad we cleared that up, pumpkin. And the funny thing about me, a little character quirk of mine, if you will, is that I don’t like to repeat myself. So let me put it in the simplest possible terms, hm? You listening closely? Good. Now.” I take the gun I keep under the pillow, and point it at where I think his head is. “ _If you don’t pick up the pace right now and go about this like a man, I’m gonna shoot your dick off._ Any questions?” 

A deep, shaky exhale. “None, boss.” 

I smile a little wider. 

Now, you may think that’s a little harsh, darling. It probably is, and I’m sorry you had to see that. But I’m so far past patience now I’m circling it right back from the other side, and I _need_ it to feel real, and it won’t as long as he keeps touching me like he’s afraid the acid will jump off my skin and eat through his, too. 

_You’d_ never touch me like this, darling. 

And it’s not like these shadow puppets _matter_. 

Now. 

Where were we? 

Thankfully for Andy and his generous endowment, he seems to finally get the hint. The next touch is firmer when it curls over my hipbone. Still too timid at first, and I sigh, pressing just a little harder on the trigger. 

And then the next touch comes, and it glides hard and firm over my skin, and it _burns_ , oh god, it burns me in _just_ the right way, the pressure deep and distracting enough to edge me into the kind of pain that’s startling and deep and thick and juicy, focusing the scattered edges of my mind to follow the path of the touch bursting in little fires over my skin, and this time, when I sigh, it’s in pleasure and deep, deep, _deep_ relief. 

This, now. This, I can work with. 

We’re in business. 

I arch into the touch to encourage more of it, and sigh my appreciation louder as I relax my gun arm and let it fall limply to the mattress. Somewhere above me, a breath stutters, but I’m only vaguely aware of it. I’m too busy _burning_ , the pain centering me like little else can, intense enough, _there_ enough to bring all of me into it, to focus me on it, to drown out all the other impulses that come at me from all over and that, at any other time, overwhelm and scatter me to pieces. 

I’m not _quite_ whole yet. There’s still bits of my mind that float away, that follow their own train, and I can feel them trying to pull the rest of me along. 

But then the hand — your hand, darling, it can only be your hand at this point — grips onto my hipbone hard enough to pin me to the mattress. Another hand caresses my nipple. I make noises to encourage more of this, as I would with you, and the touches slowly start getting firmer. Harder. 

And the fantasy keeps taking root slowly but surely, which, yes. 

Still not exactly what I need. 

But getting there. 

“Now,” I demand, letting my finger curl over the gun trigger. I like holding onto it. I feel like I would with you, too, until you wrestle it out of my hand. Another shiver wrecks me at the very thought, and it’s just one more step to taking me out of here, out of this loft, and to — 

Now, where _would_ we go tonight? Let’s take it a step further and set the scene, why don’t we. A rooftop, somewhere up high and windy and gritty with smoke, with nothing but Gotham’s toxically motherly skies above us? Over at Ace, on one of the catwalks, the drums full of deathlife bubbling beneath us? Or maybe, speaking of deathlife, how’s about getting down and dirty in _the alley_ , you know the one, the bang bang you’re dead one, with grit and blood in our mouths? 

I like that last one, darling. I think we _should_. But... 

… Maybe some other time. That last one would make you _feral_ , and I doubt Andy can pull it off convincingly no matter what I threaten him with. He just doesn’t have it in him, and tonight, immersion is key. 

So perhaps we should just stick with the loft for now. Me in my hideout, nice and naked and waiting for you, you crashing through the skylight — a literal bat out of hell — showering me in glass, pouncing on me. A nice, safe fantasy, easy to slip into, especially with the scorch of your eyes still on me, following the path of the gloved hands roaming and stimulating my body all over. 

All right. I think I’ve got it. You with me? 

Silly question. Of course you are. 

Let’s go. 

“ _Now_ ,” I repeat, prickly with impatience, and to illustrate my point, I plant my feet wide apart on the mattress and raise my hips. 

Too literal? Nah. Not when it comes to this. I’m done pussyfooting about, and I need my fix. 

Get with the program. 

The first finger, trained nicely with experience, breaches me right on cue. The lube makes it nice and wet but still not wet enough to minimize the friction of rubber, and oh, that texture, all coarse and rough and cold. The pressure. The sting of it, plunging in fast and deep and taking no prisoners, just the way I like it. And oh, darling. 

Yes. 

It’s _you_. 

“More,” I order immediately. It feels so good, the burn, the hurt, and I need more of it to really lose it. I’m so close, the fantasy at the tips of my fingers, on the underside of my tongue, your smell, your taste, your weight over me, _your eyes on me_ , and I’m ready to beg. 

I only need a push. That’s all. One final little push, and then I’m all — 

There’s more. Two fingers now, plunging into me hard and rough the way I taught Andy to do, just enough lube for a nice slick glide but not too much so the friction’s _just_ right. 

And I let go. I fall right into it. I think my hips move, but I can’t be sure — I let my body do its thing, seek out where the pleasure’s best, and enjoy the ride. _You’re_ over me now, your eyes on me and me alone, your gauntleted hand moving in and out of me, stroking my burning nerve endings, leaving bursts of pleasure-pain with every touch. 

You want to hurt me. You know how much it turns me on. And you don’t hold back. 

_Yes._

It takes me no time at all to find the perfect angle and then move into it, encourage it, get your fingers just when I need them most. It’s okay to take direction, darling. No need to be shy. It’s our first time like this (I’ve just decided that) and you know the outside of my body like you do your own — probably better, come to think of it — but you need to learn the inside, too. 

That’s all right. I’ll show you. Just keep putting those fingers on me, and in me, and follow the roll of my hips, and — 

Three fingers. Good. So, so good. I’m floating now, suspended weightless and disembodied in midair, letting out noises loud and proud and free like I know you’ll like, carried away on the electric currents of ecstasy on every downroll. Spark, spark, spark, little fireworks going off inside me with every brush of your fingers in just the right place. My eyes closed, one hand gripping the gun, the other limp on the mattress beside my head, and I barely feel them there, am barely aware of anything that _isn’t_ the burn of your fingers moving inside of me or your other hand pushing firmly down on my hipbone. 

Part of me wants to let this go on forever until I pass out from it. 

But as it often happens, as soon as that thought drops on me, it’s no longer enough. 

I’m ready for you, darling. I’m so, so ready. 

I make a noise. Pat the mattress, only half-aware of what my arm is doing, or even that I _have_ an arm. My toes curl. My hips get restless, pushing up and down. The fingers inside me speed up, massaging my prostate fast enough that for one hot glorious second, the bursts of pleasure all blur into one another, a continuous explosion that goes on and on and on and on — 

I think I black out for a second there. I’m not sure. I can’t be sure. Next time I’m aware of anything _besides_ the pulse of sensation in my ass, my throat is hoarse, and you’re holding up my hips, and it’s your cock moving inside me now instead of your hands. 

The noises I make now are loud enough to wake the dead. They must be — my throat hurts with them, and there’s a ringing in my ears, and _you’d_ never sound like this so I can only assume it’s me. There’s grunting above me, quiet and intense and coming at me all hazy-vague and cottony. 

_That_ sounds like you. And if it doesn’t quite hit the mark, well, that doesn’t matter at this point, because your eyes are on me and your cock’s inside me and it’s all too easy now to let my mind do the rest. 

All for you. All of this. 

I hope you’re looking your fill. 

There’s a throb in my cock at the thought. It’s straining so hard against my stomach that the hurt of it is almost hot enough to distract from the glide of your cock in my ass. Can’t have that, darling. 

I need it to hurt more. 

So I put my hand down there. I grip the base of my cock through the glove, and squeeze down hard. The pain’s exquisite and grounding, and I scream out freely, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, moving my hips, setting a rhythm, guiding the cock inside me to the right angle so it feels as good as it possibly can. 

It’s so much now. More than I usually let myself feel, more intense, with the hurt of my fist squeezing down on my cock and the sting-drag of your cock inside me. It’s a hard rhythm you’re setting, steady at the beginning but going faster now just because my whole body’s asking you to. You’re heaving above me, grunting, and then — yes, _yes finally_ — you hold me down, pin my hips to the mattress, grab my ankles and hold them up over your shoulders, and then hold my hips in both hands, and ram it home. 

Yes, baby. Yes, please. Come on. Harder, now. Faster. I know you want to. Hurt me like you want to. Just let go. 

Let go, and be mine just like I am yours. 

It’s done now. The trick. The illusion, the fantasy — it’s all that exists for me anymore. I forget where I am. I forget the when, and the who, and the how. I let it _all_ go gladly, down the drain with everything else I have no use for anymore, until then there’s only me and you. My moany laughter, your breath coming fast. The slap of our bodies coming together, fighting it out in a whole new way, mine and yours connected like they’ve never been before. Your violence, thrusting into me. My violence in taking it. 

It’s everything, and it’s perfect, and then it gets even faster, even harder, the thrusts burning me up from the inside, pulling me inside out and apart — 

I open my eyes. 

And there you are. 

_You_. Up on the skylight. Watching me, and looking so painfully beautiful with Gotham’s moon behind you. 

For a moment there, I wonder just how real it is. I’m a bit far gone, you see, and I think my mind would conjure you up even if you weren’t _actually_ here. 

But you are. You must be. The caress of your gaze on me is so hot now, leaving burn scars in its wake, all over my body, and I can trace the intensity around your mouth. 

That’s — 

Oh, darling. 

Hello. 

You’ve never done that before. Never come this close, never revealed yourself like this. The fact that you’re doing this now, it — 

I moan, straining, arching off the mattress, showing you my neck. The fist I’ve got around my cock goes so tight it might as well be a cock ring. My whole body melts down, goes all loose and liquid and pliant, and my mind does the same, and instead of collapsing all around me, the fantasy bleeds into reality like it’s never done before. 

It _is_ you with me. Pounding into me. Holding me down. Your body over mine, your eyes on me and mine on you. 

You. You. You. 

I almost don’t notice it when I come. The pleasure’s so intense by that time, building and building and building, that it’s just one continuous sensation rippling out from a single point deep inside me and pulsing in wave after wave all through me, stretched out in time, and it seems like an orgasm that lasts forever and will just keep on lasting into infinity and beyond. I give myself up to it wholly, letting it sweep me up and away, riding it out unblinking, gazing up at you while my body keeps afloat and the edges of my mind get all whitehotblurry, and then it all goes _quiet_ , so perfectly, blissfully quiet, no distractions, no staticy noise in my head, no voices or anything else. Just you, and I smile up at you in thanks as I drift, and I know you know that it’s for you, and you alone. 

Just as it’s supposed to be. 

At some point in all that, Andy leaves. I don’t know when, nor do I care. All I’ve got eyes for is you, watching me from above, the sky behind you, your eyes scorching holes in my skin. 

I put my arm up. I splay my fingers. I reach out for you, and blow you a kiss. 

You disappear after that, as I thought you might. It’s okay. The moment we had, the connection, that’s not something either of us will forget, and it’s not something you can hide from yourself. 

That’s a big step, darling. I realize it, and I appreciate it. I know what it means for you, and for us. 

Don’t worry. I won’t bring it up. I know how this game works, and I’ll keep your little moment of weakness between us, a dirty little secret locked up deep in my heart to take out whenever I need warming up. 

Thank you for giving me this, darling. I love you. 

Till next time. 

Goodnight. 


End file.
